And fine Linda, eyes dumb as a deer's, coat plenty warm, but buttoned all wrong. With those dumpling-soft breasts and ass wide, wonderful, mysterious as the noon sun. Too pretty Linda. Tall enough to pinch her lips closed, and almost, just almost kiss God. Linda. Linda, Linda. Linda Tichelle Grant. Miss Linda Tichelle Grant, big in all the wrong places, a flower un-bloomed, yanked, her palms open, palms asking, palms pleading, palms begging, turned to take her seat next to the corduroy lap. Its zipper stripped back easy, so well-used. The sound, a dying bee, in the family's ear.